Glee Texts From Last Night
by ZombieRider
Summary: A collection of glee one-shots inspired by Texts From Last Night. Most will be Brittana-centric with a little glee club fun mixed in. Rated M for alcohol and language.
1. Rain Boots

**(425):**

**you started crying because you didn't get to wear your rainboots this week so i turned on the shower and let you jump around in it**

**(206):**

**youre the best friend ever**

* * *

><p>Quinn craned her neck backwards as she tried to peer through the dark leaves of the tree.<p>

"I don't think she's up there anymore, Puck."

Pucks called back, "Yeah, I know. She jumped from the branch to the roof. I'm going after her, but if I can't catch her in like ten minutes or so, call the fire department, ok?"

"Alright, good luck, I'm going to go check on Brittany."

Quinn sighed as she slipped in the back door of her house. This party was more parts exhausting than it was fun, especially since she and Puck were designated drivers which basically equated babysitting duty.

She started to follow the thumping bass back into the living room but Mercedes' voice called to her from upstairs.

"Hey, Quinn! Get up here, you gotta see this!"

Quinn changed course and climbed up the stairs, yelling back, "Is Brittany with you? I don't want her following Santana out onto the roof!"

"Oh my God, Santana's on the roof? This night just keeps getting better and better," Mercedes giggled as she took Quinn's arm with one hand, a red solo cup in the other.

She led Quinn into the bathroom and gestured to its contents, "She's been sitting in here for like fifteen minutes."

Brittany was sitting cross-legged on the tiny rug, sobbing softly. She was holding one yellow rain boot in her hands, and one on her foot. Quinn knelt down next to her and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"What'cha doing Britt?"

Brittany peered up at Quinn's face, her eyes squinting from the bathroom's fluorescent lights. She pouted her lower lip out and said, "San got me these brand new rain boots, but it hasn't rained all week and I really want to jump in puddles and… You can see the sky in puddles, like a portal to another world, you know? " She trailed off in a sob and hugged the boot to her chest.

Behind Quinn, Mercedes was collapsed against the counter, giggling. She managed to gasp out, "See! I told her it was July and that it probably wasn't going to rain, and she just sat down and started crying." Mercedes broke down into giggles again, and Quinn scowled at her.

"You are not helping."

Quinn turned back to Brittany, but before she could say anything the ceiling rumbled with loud, thundering footsteps. A muffled whoop and drunken laughter rang out before Puck roared, "Get back here, Lopez, you're going to break your damn neck!"

Brittany stared at the ceiling and wiped her nose with Quinn's sleeve. "She won't fall, she's a Fruit Loop."

Mercedes stared at the girl for a second before starting to laugh again. "You crazy, Brittany," she snickered before turning to Quinn, "I always thought Santana bawled when she got wasted."

Quinn sighed and grabbed some Kleenex to wipe off her sleeve as she explained, "I think she means Cheerio. Also, I guess once Santana stopped lying to herself she stopped crying so much. Stuff tends to work out that way," before standing up and opening the shower curtain. "C'mere, B. I'll make some rain for you, alright?"

Quinn turned the shower on and grabbed Brittany under the armpits so she could heave her into a standing position.

Mercedes snorted, "Oh no, girl, you are not going to put her in the shower."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do? She wants to splash in puddles and I need to go get her girlfriend off of the roof. Put your other boot on, Brittany."

Brittany stumbled obediently into the bathtub and immediately burst into laughter.

"It's raining, Mercedes! I knew it would, I should be a gynecologist!"

Quinn ducked behind Mercedes to escape the water Brittany was splashing everywhere as she jumped around in her own personal rainstorm.

"I think she means meteorologist," she muttered to Mercedes.

Mercedes shrugged, "I dunno, from what Santana says, she'd be a pretty good gynecologist, too."

Wearily, Quinn shook her head and slipped out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Make sure she doesn't drown, alright?"

"What about her wet clothes?"

"Well if Puck ever gets Santana down, I'm sure she'll gladly take them off."

* * *

><p>"S?"<p>

Quinn was back where she started, staring up at a tree. She had circled back around the house trying to see how Puck was faring on the roof, but a rustling in the tree had caught her attention.

Before she could call out again, Santana's upper body swung down from a branch, narrowly avoiding clocking Quinn right in the face. She was upside down, her legs gripping the branch and her arms dangling as she reached out and squished Quinn's cheeks together.

"Your cheeks are squishy. I shall call them Squishy and they shall be mine and they shall be my Squishy."

Quinn squirmed out of her grasp. "Hi to you, too. Do you have a death wish tonight or something?"

Santana laughed one of her deep belly laughs that were usually reserved only for Brittany before answering, "Have a little faith, Q. I'm a Queerio, falling's not allowed."

Quinn sighed again. She seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. "Honestly, you sound like Brittany. You're a Cheerio not a Queer- actually, you're right. Never mind." She stepped back into Santana's range and held out her arms. "Come on, I think it's time to get down. What'd you do with Puck anyway, is he still on the roof?"

"I think he's in the chimney. I was trying to find a reindeer for Britt Britt, and-"

"Alright, I don't want to know. Just grab on to me, would you?"

Santana grinned and drawled out, "Wanky," before wrapping her arms around Quinn's waist and, before the girl could turn her upright, her legs around her neck. Quinn stumbled backwards, her arms automatically wrapping around Santana's waist as she tried not to fall over.

"Santana! Get your crotch out of my face!"

"Wank-"

"Shut up!"

Santana clung tightly to Quinn like an upside down koala. Only after Quinn lost the fight to stay upright and fell backwards into the dewy grass did she relinquish her death grip enough to roll off of her more-than-slightly displeased friend.

They lay breathlessly for a few seconds, Quinn's head at Santana's feet and Santana's head lying on Quinn's ankles. The stars overhead were laid out in breathtaking constellations and the tiny sliver of moon was sending a glow over all of Lima. Quinn felt the annoyance of the night slowly seep out of her as the glow of the sky seemed to infuse her with a peaceful sense of calm.

"Thanks for getting me out of the tree."

"You're welcome."

"You have really cute underwear on."

Quinn nudged Santana's head with the toe of her shoe. "You are such a perv, Lopez."

"Yeah, but you love me."

For the first time that night Quinn let herself smile. She said softly, "Yeah, I do. I really do."

They laid in silence for a minute or so, letting the dew seep into their clothes and cool their skin. After a while Santana poked her head up and hesitantly asked, "You're not still broken, are you?"

Quinn frowned in confusion. "That's a weird question to ask, even for drunk you."

"I mean it, Q. The whole baby thing…you were broken; everything was. I know I wasn't there for you. I hate myself for a lot of things I've done, but that's one of them that I hate most of all." Santana squirmed uncomfortably before continuing, "I was scared, so scared. If Quinn Fabray, ruler of the whole school, could fall so hard, what hope was there for me? I was afraid to be around you, like it could rub off on me or something stupid like that. And I couldn't afford any mess-ups. If anyone found out what I was, about me and Brittany..." she shook her head slowly, "And look how that fucking worked out for me. Stupid Fetus Face and that stupid fucking commercial. Maybe if I had just stuck by you, stuff would've been different. Maybe…"

Quinn lay silent, letting the alcohol fuel Santana's rambling. When she fell quiet, Quinn reached over and held onto Santana's ankle. "That mess was my doing. I got myself into it; I shouldn't have expected you and Brittany to get me out of it."

"But you did expect it, and you had every right to. That's what best friends are supposed to do, get each other out of shit."

Quinn took a deep breath as she thought back to that time of uncertainty and isolation. At first, she had been furious with Santana for leaving her, but after a while it just didn't sting as much as it used to. Quinn was more perceptive then most people knew. She saw the tangle of emotions between Santana and Brittany, she had, after all, been a witness to it for years. She understood that Santana was fighting things as well, except her battle scars didn't show on the outside. Maybe in that aspect, Quinn had it easier. Her pregnancy wasn't a secret; people saw, they judged, and they moved on. Santana was essentially battling against herself, a much more abstract and complicated war.

In a way, Quinn had ditched Santana just as much as Santana had ditched her. Quinn saw what nobody else, except Brittany, did, and she shied away from it the same way Santana avoided Quinn's pregnancy.

The thoughts swirled around in Quinn's head and she debated whether to try and untangle them now or wait until Santana was sober. She decided on the latter and bent her head to kiss Santana's ankle.

"Forget about it, San."

"Quinn-"

"No, I mean it. It doesn't matter anymore. Look at where we are now. Not everything is perfect, but it all turned out ok. We're all here now, together, and even though the path to this point was a little rough, I'm glad we took it."

"I thought your name was Quinn, not Buddha," Santana said softly, breaking the moment, before she turned her head chomped on Quinn's foot, her teeth gently digging into her skin. Quinn yelped and sat up, tugging her foot away from Santana.

"Ok, Jaws. Jeez. Feelings time is over. Let's go get your girlfriend out the shower and then we can try to rescue Puck."

Quinn pulled her friend to her feet and Santana threaded their fingers together. Someone opened a window upstairs and thin strand of music floated out, guiding them back to their friends.

"Hey Quinn, guess what."

"What?

"I'm a lesbian."

"Yeah, Santana, I know. I'm proud of you."

"Guess what else."

"What?"

"You're not very good at this guessing thing, but I'll tell you anyway. You're the best friend ever." Santana paused, thinking for a moment. "Besides Brittany."

"Thanks, S."

"You're welcome. Why's Britt in the shower?"

"It's a bit of long story. I'll tell you on the way."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Apologies for all the wonky italics and other mistakes, I'm trying to figure out how to use . If you have any texts that you would like me to use, post them in your review.<strong>


	2. A Shopping Cart and a Dance Off

**(828):**

just won a stolen shopping cart in a dance off in a parking lot.

* * *

><p>It was like an old western movie shootout. There was even a tumbleweed blowing in the background. Okay, maybe it was just a plastic bag, but it made everything seem that much more authentic to Santana, who was having way more fun then she should have been, seeing as she was standing in an empty parking lot at 2 A.M.<p>

She secretly squirmed with ill-concealed glee as she sidled up next to Brittany, whose eyes were narrowed and zeroed in on Mike, who was standing in a wide legged stance directly across from her, about ten feet away. Santana squared off with Puck and tried to scowl when his hand twitched toward his pocket. Before she could call him out for cheating, Sugar's shrill voice cut through the cool night air.

She was perched on top of a shopping cart return station sign, about ten feet off the ground, and waving her arms to catch everyone's attention. Tina was stationed directly under her, leaning on the coveted prize.

"Alright, this here's a shootout, but since guns tend to kill people I have changed the theme of choice to a dance off instead," Sugar drawled. She tipped an imaginary cowboy hat to Tina and said, "Give 'em the rules, cowgirl."

Tina rolled her eyes but Santana knew she was amused. Nobody really knew much about Sugar. Not where she came from or where she lived, or even how she always managed to tag along on random middle of the night adventures when, as far as anyone could tell, nobody had invited her. She might be her own special brand of crazy, but something about her seemed comfortably familiar to Santana, so she made an allowance for her slightly arrogant antics. Plus, Brittany thought she was hilarious and liked having her around, and what Brittany wants, Brittany gets. No, Santana is not whipped. Not at all. Ok, maybe a little bit.

Tina stepped forward and stated the rules, "Alright. Brittany, Mike, if you guys die, your seconds will take your place. Puck, Santana, that's you." Puck pumped his fist and bellowed, "Hell yes!" and Santana cheekily saluted her, but Brittany and Mike stood locked in their staring contest and didn't acknowledge her. Brittany waggled her eyebrows to try and break Mike's concentration, but he only winked, making her giggle instead.

Tina smirked and continued, "Sugar and I will judge the winner. The prize is this trusty steed." Tina stepped back and patted the battered shopping cart that she had been leaning on previously. When they had wandered into the parking lot earlier that night, they found the shopping cart abandoned and alone over by the dumpsters. Puck had immediately claimed it as his own; but Santana insisted she had seen it first.

Really, she just did it to piss off Puck. When he got angry, he repeatedly scrubbed his hands through his mohawk, which made it stick up. Brittany got a kick out of it; she said he looked like a cockatoo that stuck its foot in a light socket, so Santana tried to rile him up as often as she could (still not whipped).

Plus, riding in an old shopping cart with Britt under the starry skies of Lima with the summer breeze blowing through their hair seemed really romantic. Like in that old 80's movie with the lawnmower. Except Santana that didn't know how to start a lawnmower, so a shopping cart was the best she could do.

Unfortunately, Mike was being blackmailed by Puck as a result of a Mario Kart mishap that Santana still didn't quite understand, and chose to pay his debt by participating in the duel over the shopping cart (and maybe Mike wanted to push Tina around a little bit too, he did, after all, call Santana once asking to borrow her lawnmower).

"Give me the radio, Puck," Tina said, sticking her hand out and waggling her fingers. Puck pulled a tiny portable radio out of his pocket and Santana scowled. She _knew_ that's what he had been reaching for earlier.

"Does that thing pick up any stations? It looks like it's from when Jesus was alive," Brittany said, breaking her gaze from Mike for the first time.

Puck replied with a cheeky grin, "Yeah, it's super old. God probably made it on, like, the eighth day or something. It works, though."

"All right, would you give the Asian the damn radio? The sooner Britt wins, the sooner we can gets our shopping cart on."

"Wanky!"

"Shut up, Fuckerman, that's not even how you say it." Santana made a threatening step towards the idiot, but Brittany slung her arm around Santana's waist and gently tugged her backwards.

"You have to wait until I die first, San, that's the rule," Brittany said softly before dipping her backwards and smacking a chaste kiss on her lips. While Santana tried to make her head stop spinning, Brittany gave Tina a thumbs-up to signal she was ready.

Santana was actually surprised at the power of Puck's tiny radio; the music radiating from it echoed throughout the parking lot and it immediately made Brittany start to wiggle next to her. She thought about mentioning how the miniscule radio was bigger than Puck's dick _and_ had more power, but Brittany and Mike had already started dancing and Sugar was whooping up a storm so she decided to just let it go and be a good person for once. She could always remark on it later.

Watching Brittany dance always mesmerized Santana, but watching both her girlfriend and Mike was like watching a captivating explosion of skill and energy. It was hypnotic; Santana barely heard the music as she watched Brittany's limbs spin and twist seemingly independent of one another, yet totally in sync. Mike's movements were more forceful and staccato, he was laughing as his shoes scuffed against the pavement and his shirttails flew up.

Tina put the radio through its paces, switching the station every thirty seconds or so. Rock, techno, classical all brought a different array of moves from the two dancers. Everyone seemed to forget it was a contest and started cheering and hollering when one of them pulled off a particularly difficult sequence. Mike even grabbed Brittany's hands and gave her a few turns when a waltz came on.

Mike's short black bangs were plastered to his forehead with sweat and his voice was rough with fatigue as he called out, "Better give up now, Britt, I'm so winning this thing!"

Santana laughed and cupped her hands around her mouth, "Ha! Is that what your fortune cookie said, Jackie Chan? My girl is kicking your ass!"

Brittany caught her eye and grinned, blowing her an air kiss. Her hair was down and constantly whipping around as she danced, creating a storm of gold that haloed her head. Her cheeks were pink and the streetlight shone off her damp skin, creating an alluring shine that made Santana's heart wobble as it sped up.

The two seemed evenly matched until Tina switched the radio to a Spanish station. A swift flamenco rhythm took over the parking lot, filling the air with an upbeat guitar soundtrack. Both dancers faltered at the unfamiliar song, but after a second Brittany recognized it.

She turned toward Santana and dramatically clutched at her heart before tumbling to the pavement with a theatrical moan. Santana jogged to her side and knelt down beside her, slightly confused. Brittany peered up at her through her bangs and smiled before yelling, "Oh Santana, I fear I am deceased. You must take my place and avenge me," before collapsing back in Santana's arms.

"Avenge you, I will, my fair maiden," Santana proclaimed, gently setting Brittany down before climbing to her feet. She easily slipped into the steps that she'd practiced every weekend on worn wooden floors, guided by her abuela's hands.

It had been a Sunday tradition; after church Abuela would turn on the radio and get lunch cooking, twirling Santana around as she added ingredients, the flamenco music mixing with the sizzle and clang of pots and pans. Sometimes Brittany would be there, but most times not. Dancing with her abuela on weekends were some of Santana's favorite memories, but now they tasted bittersweet and coppery, like pennies under her tongue.

Mike backed off and stood next to Tina as Santana flew through the song. She let her eyes slide shut and the music take over. Her muscles remembered the steps even though her mind was rusty, so she let her feet take over and stopped thinking.

After what simultaneously seemed like an eternity and an instant, Santana felt familiar hands slip into hers. She opened her eyes only to be blinded by brilliant blue ones. Brittany was so close that Santana could've counted all her freckles, one by one. Their bodies slid together, fitting so well against each other it was like they were one being.

It reminded Santana of a Plato quote she had read somewhere. She whispered it softly to Brittany as they danced, "Humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings- condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other half to complete them."

Brittany laughed softly and pressed her forehead against Santana's, whispering back, "My little bookworm. We got the jump on Zeus, though. I didn't spend my whole life searching; I found you right away."

After Sugar had proclaimed them the winners Puck gallantly helped Santana into the basket of the cart. Before he let go of her he said quietly, so nobody else could hear, "This shopping cart better get you laid, Lopez. I had big plans for this thing." Santana gave him a kiss on the cheek and ruffled his mohawk. "Thanks for playing, Puckerman, better luck next time."

Brittany was standing over by Tina and Sugar and goofing around with Mike. He gently shoved her shoulder and said, "I've never heard of a duel where someone came back from the dead. I call breaking the rules."

Brittany wiggled away from him and stuck out her tongue, "Ever heard of zombies? They come back to life all the time. They even come in double rainbow form sometimes." She ducked behind him and pretended to sink her teeth into his neck.

Santana shifted in the cart and called over her shoulder, "C'mon, B! We've got a sweet ride and a town to conquer. Let's do this thing!"

Brittany walked over and yelled goodbye to their friends before grabbing the cart railing and taking off with Santana down the street. She got a running start and then hopped on the back, pumping the sidewalk every so often with her right leg to keep them going. The night stretched long and unbroken before them as they left their friends behind, their voices fading away until the only things Santana could hear were the shopping cart and Brittany's breathing.

"We're so weird!" She cried to Santana over the shriek of the shopping cart's wheels.

"Why?"

"We just stole a shopping cart that we won in a dance off at 2 A.M. in the grocery store's parking lot!"

"That's not weird, that's awesome! We're awesome!"

Santana threw back her head and watched the stars wink and sparkle as the wind blew through her hair. She reached back to grab Brittany's hand and whispered an "I love you" that she probably couldn't hear, but definitely already knew.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: I sort of wanted this to be funny, but it turned a little more serious in the middle. I love that Plato quote, it's from <em>The Symposium<em>. Thank you for all the kind reviews last time, please do it again, and prompt if you want!**


	3. They've got the Brain Muchies!

**(810):**

We have zombies coming, and all you can think about is cock.

* * *

><p>Santana shot up, her head turned towards the door.<p>

"What the hell was that?"

Brittany lay curled up on the floor of the utility closet, but her head was turned towards the door, too, listening.

The scream had shattered against the thick door of the closet, piercing through their quiet murmurs and effectively scaring the hell out of both of them.

"Maybe they decided to play dodge ball instead?" Brittany whispered, finally stirring from where she had been cuddled on the floor with Santana. She stood behind Santana and pressed her ear to the door.

Santana's eyes slid shut for a moment, the press of Brittany's body against hers chasing away the rest of the initial adrenaline rush from the scream and substituting a different kind of excitement in its place. Then, another scream, this one more of a bellow, shocked her out of her Brittany induced haze for the second time.

"I don't think so, Britt. They're running the mile today, that's why we skipped, remember?" Santana reached behind her and tugged on Brittany's black gym shorts to further her point.

Brittany stepped back and looked at Santana. Her eyebrows were drawn up tight and she was chewing on her lip. "What if something's wrong? Should we…" Her voice trailed off as she waited for Santana to substitute in a game plan, like she always did. Santana was the planner, the mastermind, and Brittany trusted her.

Santana recognized that trust and nodded her head, making a decision. "Let's go check it out. It's probably just some stupid freshman or something."

She yanked open the door quickly, not waiting for her mind to catch up with her body, not letting it tell her something was wrong and that she should be scared, and stepped out.

The gym was empty. On her first quick eye sweep nothing was out of the ordinary, but as she looked again, she saw the lights reflecting off something on the floor over by the doorway. She nudged Brittany with her elbow and tipped her head in the direction of the door.

To Santana's surprise, Brittany ducked around her arm and positioned herself slightly in front of her. She saw Santana's questioning look and gave her a quick smile, "I'm bigger than you."

Before Santana could protest, Brittany set off across the gym. Her shoulders were back and her stride was long and confident, but Santana could see the tension in her body as she followed behind her.

It was blood. Santana tried to scoot away from the ominous red puddle but her feet got tangled and she toppled back onto her butt with a soft "oomph".

"Britt, come back here by me, okay?" Her voice was so calm it almost served to trick herself into believing that everything was still okay. Almost.

Brittany jogged back over to her from the end of the hall where she had been peeking around the corner. She was chewing on her lip again, and her voice was thin as she said, "I think I heard something down the hall. And the lights are off. What's going o-"

Her voice cut off in the middle of the sentence and Santana watched the blood drain out of Brittany's face, turning her already pale complexion into the face of a ghost. Her freckles stood out like stars on an inverted night sky.

That day had started out like any other day. Brittany had picked her up at her locker with a coffee like always; they had gone to Calculus and History like always, chatted with the other Glee kids like always. Everything was normal. Everything was fine. Except now it wasn't.

The girl stumbling down the hallway towards them was a Cheerio. Or at least, she used to be. Sue would never allow her to remain on the squad looking like this. Her hair was only half in her pony tail and her uniform was ripped from her armpit all the way down to her waist, exposing her bra. Santana's eyes traveled up from her strange, jerky feet, up her crooked skirt, eyes snagging on a weird dark stain that seemed to originate at her neck… oh, God, her neck.

Her throat was torn open so spectacularly that a garishly white glimmer of bone flashed whenever the girl lifted her chin. Santana was captivated by the wet thwacks the flaps of the girls throat made as they flopped against the front of her uniform. She was amazed that what remained of the girl's neck could still support her head.

It was only when the girl bared her bloody teeth in a snarl and let out a noise so completely inhuman that Santana was startled into movement. The phlegmy, gurgling roar sent her backpedaling right into the blood puddle which sent her feet sliding out from under her.

Before she could fall, Brittany grabbed her gym shirt and yanked her upright, then barreled past her towards the girl. The Cheerio, or what used to be a Cheerio, had moved surprisingly fast down the hallway and was nearly on top of them. Her arms were stretched in front of her, reaching, and her fingers were gnarled so stiffly into claws they appeared to be broken. She opened her mouth to let out another gurgling rasp, but before she could reach them, Brittany knocked her arms away in a sweeping blow and shoved her shoulder into the girl's chest. She had so much momentum the not-Cheerio was lifted completely off her feet before slamming hard into the ground.

The impact of the back of her head against the tiled floor made a cracking noise that echoed throughout the hallway. The blow would have knocked out an ordinary person, or in the very least slowed her down, but the not-Cheerio immediately flipped over onto her belly and started clawing herself upright again. Brittany wasted no time, she changed direction and grabbed Santana's elbow, dragging her along back towards the gym.

"Go, San!"

Santana went; finally finding her stride. They sprinted back through the gym and ducked into the closet, slamming the door behind them. The entire encounter couldn't have lasted more than a minute, but to Santana it felt like a lifetime had gone by since they had first slipped into the closet that morning. The utility closet was lit only by a grimy skylight that hadn't seen a dust rag in decades, but the light seemed to burn into Santana's skull.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she panted, her voice high and bordering on hysterical, "what the fuck was that? Who the fuck was that?"

Brittany didn't answer; instead she grabbed Santana and crushed her to her chest in an iron bear hug. Santana burrowed into her arms and tucked her head up under Brittany's chin. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heart to slow down. It didn't listen.

Despite her solid grip, Santana could feel Brittany trembling. The gentle vibration of Brittany's throat hummed against her head when she spoke next, "I think that girl was dead, San."

Santana pulled back so she could see Brittany's face. It hadn't regained any color since she first saw the zombie, but her blue eyes were clear and steady.

"She was walking, B. She was making noises."

Brittany shook her head and replied, "Did you see her neck? That was bad. People that are hurt like that don't walk around. Or try to eat us."

"Eat us?" Even as Santana asked the question, she knew Brittany was right. On this sunny spring day, a cheerleader had attempted to eat her. Jesus Christ.

"Squat down more, would you? You're too tall."

"I still think you should wear the helmet."

Santana stood on her tiptoes as she gently shoved the battered football helmet onto Brittany's head. They had found it under a stack of five gallon buckets in the corner of the closet. Someone had spray painted it black and the janitor had neglected to clean it off, shoving it back with the surplus sports equipment instead.

"I already told you, it's too big for me. And besides, according to you, I'm hard-headed enough as it is," Santana chuckled.

They had spent the last fifteen minutes completely stripping the utility closet for anything they could use as a weapon or body armor. Santana's hair was tied back with a black rag and she had a tool belt slung over her shoulder and across her body like some sort of grimy Girl Scout sash. It was stocked with a hammer and several screwdrivers.

Brittany was outfitted with a set of battered football shoulder pads and the helmet Santana was currently trying to jam onto her head. In her right hand was an old wooden Louisville slugger baseball bat. She set it on the floor before ducking out from under Santana's arms and tugging the helmet back off.

Santana scowled and opened her mouth to scold her, but before she could Brittany's hands were cupping her cheeks and her lips were pressed on Santana's and her complaints died in her throat. Brittany's hair was hopelessly mussed from being smushed in and out of the helmet so many times and a few strands fell across Santana's forehead. They caught the sun from the skylight and created a halo of gold.

Santana opened her mouth into the kiss and whimpered softly. She willed for Brittany to never stop kissing her, for her lungs to never run out of air, so that she could ignore the scratching and moaning at the door for just a little longer. She wished for a few more seconds (forever, infinity) in her shining golden sanctuary. After what seemed like simultaneously an eternity and a nanosecond, Brittany broke the kiss. She rested her forehead against Santana's and just looked at her.

The blue eyes of her best friend (and lover and savior and soulmate) held the same steady confidence that they had earlier. Brittany sucked in a short breath, tickling Santana's skin, before pecking her on the nose and drawing back. She tucked a loose curl of hair back into Santana's bandana and said, "We're gonna be fine, San. We have a plan."

Santana nodded her head several times as the nervousness flooded back into her, making her muscles tighten and her stomach knot up. "Yep. We know stuff about zombies. We saw that movie with the Twinkie guy." She tried to keep her voice nonchalant but she could tell by the way Brittany smiled that she wasn't doing a very good job.

"Uh-huh. I bet you wish you had spent less time drooling over Emma Stone and more time listening to the rules now, though," Brittany teased.

Santana giggled despite herself and bumped her shoulder against Brittany's football pads. "Whatever. I like freckles, okay? Let's just review the plan one more time."

Brittany nodded, humoring her. Santana held up one finger and said, "Okay. What's the most important rule?" Brittany lunged forward and playfully snapped at the finger. Santana yelped and yanked her hand backwards as Brittany smirked, "Don't be a chew toy." Santana scowled to hide the giggles that threatened to bubble up inside her throat.

"C'mon, B, this is serious. Don't get bit. You know why."

"Yeah, yeah. Zombie drool gives you the brain munchies." Brittany noticed Santana's 'I am not amused' face and stepped closer to her. She picked up Santana's hand from where it had been resting on her hip and kissed her knuckles one by one. Her lips were soft, barely brushing her skin, and Santana was reminded of the time Brittany's mom took them to the butterfly exhibit at the zoo. The cyclone of free flying butterflies had created an overwhelming kaleidoscope of colors and whispers that sent Santana into a mini panic attack. The creepy feeling of wings against her skin had just about become overwhelming when Brittany appeared out of a cloud of monarchs to rescue her. Nothing ever felt scary after Brittany slipped her hand into hers.

"Where'd you go?" Brittany asked, and Santana opened her eyes. She hadn't even realized she closed them. "The butterfly exhibit at the zoo," she replied truthfully. Brittany would understand; she always did. Sure enough, her face broke into a grin and she leaned down to press her lips once more against Santana's fingers. "Butterfly kisses," she said softly.

A loud thump against the door and a frustrated screech yanked them from their memories. Santana shook her head as if she could physically bring herself back to the present. "Alright, what's the objective," she quizzed again. Brittany flipped the hand she was still holding over and drew on Santana's palm like it was a map. "Go out the rear doors of the gym," she traced down the line of Santana's thumb, "and take the freshman hallway down past the main office. Main goal: get to the choir room." Brittany's words were clipped and when she finished she brought her hand to her forehead in a sharp salute. Santana knew that she was teasing her but didn't have the heart to admonish her for it. Actually, joking around was the only thing that was keeping her from completely losing her shit, and Santana realized with a wry smile that, of course, Brittany already knew that.

"Alright, let's do this" Santana said. Brittany gave a short nod and settled the helmet down on her head for a final time. Santana tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bandana and selected a screwdriver from her belt as Brittany hefted her bat up, ready to swing. Santana slid over to the door and placed her hand on the knob, but as she started to turn it, Brittany yelped, "Wait!"

Santana squeaked in surprise and slammed her shoulder against the door, using her weight to keep the Cheerio zombie from shoving its' way inside. "What, Brittany?" She gasped in exasperation. For her part, Brittany fidgeted sheepishly with her bat and glanced at the ground. "What if they aren't there?"

Santana scowled. "I know they're there because they are losers, Britt. For years now the choir room has been their, our, only safe place. Whenever shit went down in the real world, the Glee club runs to the choir room and sings about it, no exceptions." She grinned and knocked lightly on the side of Brittany's helmet. "And we are lucky enough to have some of the most video game addicted losers of all time as friends, which means they will know everything there is to know about surviving a zombie apocalypse; God forbid that's what this is." Brittany flashed her own grin back at Santana and raised her bat again. "Okay. Go."

Santana wasted no time and threw the door open wide, ducking to the side as Brittany bellowed out a wordless battle cry and swung the Louisville Slugger fast and true, straight into the gaping mouth of the Cheerio. The bat made a sickeningly wet thwack as it smashed through teeth and bone. A splatter of gore and saliva sprayed outwards as the zombie dropped limply to the floor. Brittany avoided most of it by turning her helmet but Santana caught a spray of blood right across her face. The blood was still warm as it dripped down her forehead and Santana doubled over as her stomach flooded with nausea. Just as she was about to let her breakfast go, she saw the fingers of the Cheerio twitch slightly. With her right arm she shoved Brittany behind her from where she had bent over to check on Santana and with her left she pulled another screwdriver out of her belt.

"Just die already, you stupid motherfucker! I'm you captain, dammit, you take your orders from me, and I'm telling your freshman ass it's time to fuck off!" The remaining slew of insults dissolved into a wordless howl as Santana plunged the screwdriver into the eye socket of the unfortunate undead freshman. The screwdriver slid in easier than Santana expected and her momentum propelled her forward as the hilt of the tool hit bone. Brittany grabbed her by the scruff of her t-shirt and yanked her back before she could face plant into the ruined mishmash of pulp and blood that used to be a human being.

"I remembered another rule! Double tap," Santana gasped breathlessly as she threw her arms around Brittany in wordless thanks. Brittany nodded as she dragged Santana to her feet and made a face as they stepped over the body. "Yucky."

"You got that right," Santana said as they made their way through the gym and back into the hallway. She held up a hand to halt Brittany. "Listen," she whispered as a cacophony of moans and snarls echoed through the hallway, "There's so much noise. Which direction is it coming from?"

Brittany swiveled her head around, but there were no zombies immediately in sight. Yet. "I dunno, San, this helmet makes things all muffly." Santana nodded briskly and clapped her hands together. "Ok. This is what we're going to do. Remember when we used to play that old Super Mario Bros game?" Brittany nodded in affirmation. "Awesome. And remember that whenever a level got really scary or too hard, we'd just run like hell and hope for the best?" Brittany nodded again, less certain this time. "That's your plan?"

Santana bit her lip and looked at Brittany, begging her with her eyes to please just go along with her, follow her, and don't ask questions because she doesn't know the answers. Brittany blinked once-and Santana knew she understood because Brittany always understood- nodded to herself and gave the hallway one more sweep.

The lights were still off and the sunlight glinting in through the windows reflected garishly off of the lockers. There were shadows tucked into corners that wavered in Santana's peripheral vision and masqueraded as puddles of blood and the hiding places of monsters (because monsters were real now; Santana was allowed to be scared of the dark). There was a flickering at the end of the hallway, just around the corner where the main office was, that led Santana to believe the ancient emergency generators in the basement were dutifully plugging away. Brittany saw where Santana was looking and bowed out of her way, sweeping her arm towards the lights.

"Go to the light, my dear."

Santana snorted and pulled her up. "God, you are such a goober sometimes. I'm not going anywhere without you, so come on."

Brittany tried to kiss Santana's cheek but ended up head-butting her with the helmet instead, and then took off down the hallway; bat at the ready.

"Oh, you are in for it when I catch you, Brittany Pierce!" Santana yelled as she sprinted after her. Her too-tight gym shoes scrabbled at the floor as panic at being left behind warred with hysteric giggles at Brittany's antics. The taller girl slowed slightly to let Santana catch up and the two skidded around the corner as one.

"Zombies!"

Santana wasn't sure if Brittany screamed the warning or if it came out of her own mouth; her pulse was thundering too hard in her ears for her to hear much at all. Two elderly ladies had stumbled out through the shattered frame that used to hold the main office glass walls. Santana fought the urge to gag as the shard of glass that still clung to the frame bit into their skin and slid through it as easy as a sharp knife slicing through cheese. The zombies didn't flinch; they just kept coming forward, hands outstretched and reaching as they moaned (in pain? Hunger? Santana didn't know, and frankly, she didn't give a shit).

"They don't even bleed anymore," Brittany whispered in awe next to her before leaping into battle against the first oncoming zombie. It was one of Figgins' secretaries; she looked relatively unscathed except for a swollen bite-mark oozing pus on her wrist. Her glasses hung off of one ear and dangled crookedly over her nose and Santana had to fight off the irrational urge to straighten them.

As Brittany cracked her bat across the secretary's arms, Santana tried to ignore the sound of splintering bones and instead concentrate on the second zombie that had veered into her path. It was the nurse, but Santana only concluded that because of the tiny white hat still perched precariously on her head. The poor lady must have gotten the brunt of the early attacks because her dark skin was stained even darker with blood and Santana couldn't tell the difference between the saturated folds of her nurse's uniform and the shredded flaps of flesh hanging off of her torso. Everything was red, red, red.

Brittany's howling battle cries and the snarling of the two zombies became the beat to which Santana danced as she yanked her hammer out of her belt and spun around the nurse, narrowly evading being grabbed by her gnarled fingers. Her teeth clacked together so close to Santana's ear that all the breath left her for a moment before she swung back into action and slammed her hammer into the back of the zombie's unprotected head. The force of the impact sent tingles of pain all the way up to Santana's elbow and only fear kept her from dropping the hammer. The nurse dropped to her knees and then fell face down on the floor. The pulpy mess that used to be the contents of her skull gleamed wetly up at Santana. She wanted to stand there and contemplate what she had just done (Santana Lopez had just killed a person. A person with a husband and a mother and probably a cat or something.), but a hollow crack drew her attention away.

She spun around, ready to drive her hammer with the blood slick handle that was getting hard to hold onto into the brain of another monster (it was easier to think of them that way, she supposed), but relaxed when it was apparent that Brittany had it handled. The girl stood over the unmoving body of the secretary with her chest heaving and the bloody bat held triumphant in her strong grip.

"You okay, Britt?" Santana asked gently when Brittany just stood, completely still, and stared down at the floor. Santana's voice jarred her out of whatever world she had disappeared into and she shot Santana a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"No. But I'm not hurt."

Santana slid her hammer back into one of the loops on her belt and tried to navigate her way over to Brittany without slipping in the gore and various bodily fluids that were slicked across the tiles. Before she got there, however, a cry of pain drifted out from the inner bowels of the main office. Santana spun on her heels and swore as she tried to yank her hammer back out of her belt. Before she could get a good grasp on its handle, Brittany vaulted over the bodies and positioned herself in front of Santana for what seemed like the millionth time today.

"Who's there?" she called, and slid her right foot back into a solid batting stance.

"Please, help me!" The voice was male and extremely familiar, but it was so weak Santana's ears had to strain to hear it. She looked at Brittany and shrugged.

"Zombies don't talk."

Brittany nodded and gingerly stepped through the remains of the office walls. Santana followed close at her heels. As she walked, she tore the sleeves off of her gym shirt and tied them around the handle of her hammer so she could hold on to the slippery fucker. She tried not to think about what was making it so slippery and kept an eye out for zombies instead. The generators were only powering half of the ceiling lights and the flickering was coming from one that had been shattered. The wires hanging out of it were shredded and sparked every few seconds.

"That's a safety hazard," Brittany whispered absentmindedly as she swiveled her head around the room, trying to find the source of the voice.

"The whole damn world is a safety hazard now. Fucking monsters trying to eat me, ruining my sweet lady kisses and my whole damn day…" Santana muttered to herself as she poked her head under Figgins' desk. "Any monsters under the bed? Nope, guess no-" She broke off and swallowed a scream as she took in the prone body dressed in a red McKinley jersey lying behind the desk. The person wearing the jersey lifted his head and Santana yelped in surprise. Brittany was there in what seemed like less than a second and she swiftly brought her bat up, ready to swing it in a deadly downward strike, but before she could, the person spoke.

"No, no! I'm alive; I'm not one of those things!" The voice was the same one that cried for help earlier, and when Brittany shoved the desk out of the way and the dim light hit the owner of the voice's face, Santana recognized him.

"Rick the Stick? You've got to be shitting me."

The boy grinned weakly up at her. He was loosely holding a battered hockey stick and his mullet was slicked back with blood and sweat. For the first time ever, though, his disgusting choice of a hair style wasn't the thing drawing Santana's attention. The hand that wasn't holding his weapon was clamped tightly across his middle, attempting to hold in what remained of his intestines. His abdomen had been torn open right above his belly button and most of his innards where spilling out into his lap. Santana stared in frozen horror at the glistening organs that definitely did not belong in the open air.

"Hey Lopez, Pierce. Shoulda known you two would still be alive. I tried my best, but that fucking nurse snuck up on me," he paused to take in a shuddery breath, "Looks pretty bad doesn't it?" Rick tried to keep his voice light, but his fear was thinly veiled and there were tear tracks down his grimy cheeks. He usually towered over everyone in the hallways, being well over six feet tall, but now he looked small as he curled in on himself, huddled in the corner of the destroyed office, trying desperately to shove his life back inside of him where it belonged.

"Not at all. We'll fix you up, don't worry," Brittany soothed as she knelt down next to him. She gently tugged the hockey stick out of his hand and placed it behind her. Santana felt a rush of affection for her as she tugged his jersey down over the grotesque injury, hiding it from view, and then swept his hair out of his face. Santana fidgeted uneasily as she watched Brittany do her best to make Rick more comfortable. Her dad was a doctor, but even if he wasn't, any moron could see that Rick was going to die. Soon. To keep from blurting out the obvious, Santana said the next thing she could think of, "Hey Rick, why aren't you in your gym clothes?" Totally random, but she was actually curious about his answer. He was in their gym class and was supposed to be running the mile with them today, not wandering around school in his hockey jersey.

"Um, a better question is why are you guys?"

"What do you mean?"

Rick's brow furrowed in confusion and he said, "Figgins called an assembly before class even started. I think he was going to release the information about this whole zombie thing, but before it could even start, some kids who had gotten bitten already turned, and it caused a mass panic. Tons of kids got bit. There were zombies outside the auditorium too; civilians who had wandered into the school after they died. It was slaughter…" He trailed off and Santana watched as his face turned bone white. He lurched forward and gagged as a watery spew of blood leaked out of his mouth, narrowly missing Brittany's hand.

Brittany turned toward Santana and said quietly, "He hasn't got much time, San."

Rick stiffened and said, "No! I don't want to become one of those things. You can't let me turn." He frantically looked from one girl to the other; pleading. Santana held up her hands and took a step back. "Jesus Christ, Rick, what do you want us to do?"

The boy's face crumpled in on itself and then just as quickly smoothed out as he visibly steeled himself. He gestured to Santana's hammer and said, "Kill me. Do it now."

"No, no, no. No way." Killing a monster was one thing, but Rick was sitting here talking to them, breathing, thinking. Santana looked helplessly at Brittany and found that she was already looking at Santana and reading her reaction. Blue eyes searched brown ones and nodded at what they found. Santana knew Brittany would do it for her. Brittany would do anything for her; even kill another human being when her every fiber hated needless violence. That was what decided it for Santana; the realization that Brittany would do it so she didn't have to.

She let out a frustrated sigh and tightened her grip on her hammer. Rick must have seen the decision in her face because he relaxed and leaned back against the wall. His eyes fluttered and then slowly closed so that he almost looked peaceful.

Santana didn't even like Rick the Stick. He was a testosterone fueled, ego centric jackass who frequently bashed on her friends, and yet she did not want to kill him. Of course she didn't; she didn't want to kill anyone, only crazy fuckers wanted to kill people. Santana Lopez was a lot of things, but she was not a murderer by choice. Until today.

Before she could think about it anymore and convince herself not to, she dropped to her knees beside Rick and lifted her hammer high above her head and held it with a strong two-handed grip.

"I'm sorry."

Brittany turned away as she brought the hammer down once, hard, and then it was over. Santana let the makeshift weapon fall from her shaking fingers and crawled away from Rick's body as bile flooded into her throat. She felt Brittany kneel next to her and hold her from behind as she vomited over and over again. When there was nothing left to heave up, she relaxed back into Brittany's arms and buried her face in her neck. She inhaled her scent, trying to clear away the smell of blood and puke and death in favor of a smell that was all Brittany; one that resembled clean laundry, grape soda, and hot summer days.

"This is not as glamorous as those movies make it," Santana said shakily, with her head still tucked under Brittany's chin so that her words came out all muffly and quiet.

"Not many things are, babe," Brittany said with a sad smile, and kissed the top of Santana's head.

After a few more minutes of post-trauma cuddling, Brittany heaved them both to their feet and pushed out into the hallway again. Santana felt like some sort of prey animal as she crept along the lockers with her shoulders hunched and her head on a swivel. She wasn't used to feeling like this; she much preferred being at the top of the food chain with the pleats of her Cheerios skirt kissing her thighs and her chin held high.

"I want be a predator again," she grumbled to herself as they turned the corner of the hallway and the choir room door came into sight. Brittany looked back at Santana with her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You're starting to sound like me, San. Don't go crazy and lose your grip on congeniality or whatever, ok?"

Santana laughed softly and started to reassure her, but before she could even get one word out, the door to their right burst open and disgorged a pack of dead teenagers into the hallway. For the first time since high school began, jocks were shoulder to shoulder with nerds, freshmen were mingling with seniors, and everyone had a common goal: eat Santana. She would have loved to get philosophical about how only death could destroy the social pyramid, but the zombies were closing in fast; all with monstrous injuries and all snarling like a pack of rabid dogs.

Santana didn't even have time to swear before the pack was on them and then all she could do was fight. A hammer blow to the head here, stab a screwdriver into a reaching hand there; zombie parts flying everywhere like some sort of messed up video game. She caught glimpses of blond hair and football pads between zombie kills and she heard Brittany howling at the top of her lungs as she beat the living (actually, it was probably more correct to say dead now, Santana supposed) shit out of the creatures this morning were their peers.

As Santana's arms started to weaken and every heaving breath felt like fire in her lungs, a new battle cry cut through the rasping of the zombies; one that was so welcomingly familiar it brought tears to Santana's eyes.

"Come have a piece of the Puckosaur, you motherfuckers!"

Puck bowled through the crowd, knocking zombies left and right, brandishing a kitchen knife the size of Santana's forearm. On his heels was a guitar wielding Sam and a limping Finn who was holding a chair in one meaty paw and a rolling pin in the other. He was doing a sort of parody of an old school lion tamer; knocking back the zombies with the legs of the chair and then slamming the kitchen tool against their skulls. A horribly off tune twang rang out every time Sam bashed in a zombie head with is guitar and it just added to the remarkable din they were all making. With Puck's manic energy and Sam and Finn's muscle, Santana wiggled out of the front lines and slumped over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. The original zombie pack was dramatically reduced but unfortunately the noise seemed to be drawing other zombies out from their hiding spots around the school and they were slowly being backed into the end of the hallway.

"We thought you guys were zombie food! Nobody's seen you since first hour!"

"Good to see you too, Trouty. Thanks for the help."

Sam ruffled Santana's hair, effectively infuriating her, before braining an approaching zombie with his guitar. Brittany muscled her way over to the choir room door only to slam her fist against it in frustration when she discovered it was locked.

"I can see you guys in there, now open the door or we are going to die!" Brittany's voice was clear and strong, much like it had been in the janitor's closet, but now there was a hard chill to it that reminded Santana of a steel knife blade. It sent a spike of worry into her gut, but she brushed it away and pushed her way up next to Brittany against the door. She could hear shouting inside of the room.

"Goddamnit, Rachel! We have zombies coming and all you can think about is your dick of a boyfriend!"

"But what if he's dead? They've been gone for almost half an hour! You need to get your priorities straight, Quinn."

"So help me, God, I am going to kill her!"

"Grab her, Tina!"

"Ouch! Stop, Quinn! Mike, help me hold her back!"

Rachel's screaming drowned out the rest of the shouting, and Santana rolled her eyes. It figured that Rachel's dramatics would be the thing that killed them all. Santana made a mental note to find her in Hell and strangle her until her precious vocal cords gave out.

Thankfully, though, before they could be devoured by the zombie horde, Mercedes' face appeared in the window.

"Let us in, Wheezy! I'm too sexy to die!" Santana raised her hammer in a silent threat in case her genius reasoning didn't persuade her.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and swung the door open and they tumbled into the choir room. Mike darted out from behind the piano and slammed a fire extinguisher over the head of a lone zombie that managed to stagger through the doorway, and Puck rolled the body back out of the room before he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, panting.

Santana peered around the room, quickly taking stock of who was there and who wasn't. Tina still had Quinn in a half-nelson and Rachel was cowering against the trophy case. Santana felt a pang in her chest as she noted the absence of Sugar, Joe and Rory. After another sweep of the room, she noticed that Artie was nowhere to be seen. She shot a questioning look at Puck and he shook his head, "Poor guy didn't have a chance in the auditorium. It's not exactly wheelchair friendly."

Santana immediately glanced at Brittany, but she was across the room, hugging Quinn tightly to her chest. Puck brought her attention back to him as he squeezed her in his own hug. She squirmed until he released her and held up her hammer threateningly. "You ever try that again, Puckerman, and you can say goodbye to your nuts."

Puck grinned good-naturedly and teased, "Blunt force trauma? Funny, I always pegged you as more of a slice-and-dice kind of gal."

"Yeah, well, the janitor's closet had limited options, alright? Where's Lady Lips and the hobbit?"

The grin slid off Puck's face and he ducked his head. When he lifted it again, his eyes were shiny and his face was tight. "Jewfro tore out Blaine's throat in the auditorium. It was real quick, I doubt he felt a thing… Anyways, Kurt freaked and ran off. That's where we," he gestured to himself and the other two boys, "were just now when we saved your asses. We couldn't find him."

Santana took a deep breath and filed the information away in the back of her head in the spot she reserved for things that hurt too much to think about at the present and would only be revisited in the safety of Brittany's arms under her covers. A lot of today was being filed back there.

She sucked in another steadying breath and nodded briskly. "Alright. You guys do have a plan though, right? You must've learned something from all those bizarre video games." Santana frowned as another thought crossed her mind. "Nobody here's bit right?"

Puck scrubbed a hand through his mohawk, but Santana stopped paying attention to him when she registered Brittany's head shooting up from across the room. She sprinted over from where she had been speaking quietly with Mercedes and grabbed Santana by the shoulders.

"Did you just say you got bit? You're not!" Santana recoiled from the ferocity in Brittany's voice, but she didn't let go of Santana's shoulders, instead she started running her hands down Santana's arms, searching for any visible wounds. Santana tried to squirm away from her tight grip and cupped Brittany's cheek with one hand. Her eyes had the icy look in them that scared Santana earlier in the hallway.

"No, Britt, I'm fine. I'm okay!" Santana tried to reassure her, but Brittany didn't even seem to hear. She knelt down and carefully tugged on Santana's gym shorts, checking every inch of her. Santana realized that Brittany was trembling; shaking so hard she could hear her teeth knocking together as she searched Santana with the kind of panic that only came from loving someone so much that the fear of losing them became something physical that slowly wrapped around limbs and organs until it suffocated its victim. She knelt down next to Brittany and grabbed both of her hands, effectively stilling her frantic search. "Hey, look at me," she whispered, as she tried to ignore the worried stares of the other Glee kids, "I'm okay. We're okay. Everything's fine, Brittany."

Santana watched as the ice in Brittany's eyes melted away and went limp with relief when she could finally see the sky again. They both started bawling at the same time, which sent them into a fit of teary giggles. Santana slung her arms around Brittany and buried her head in her chest.

Later, Santana would watch the Glee kids gape in awe as Brittany twirled like a deadly maelstrom through an army of the living dead.

Later, her heart would crack silently in her chest as Brittany whispered tearfully into her hair, "I finally found something I'm good at, San."

Later, she would watch the world roll onto its back and surrender, and everything fall to shit. She would watch her town burn, and her friends die, but for now she just hugged Brittany as close to her as she could get and cried.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Apologies for taking so long to update! School is over now, though, so I'm trying to force my lazy ass to write more often (fingers crossed). Anyway, I'm not sure how this got so long without actually having any sort of plot at all, so I'm sorry for that too. There's not as much humor and fluff as I wanted in here, and I'm really not satisfied at all with the ending, but I really wanted to update, so this is what you get. Please review. Please.


	4. Wheat Thins Suck

**(972):**

You were so trashed that when you dropped your fruit rollup on the floor, you just sat next to it and cried.

* * *

><p>You groan as you roll over and try to cling to the last wisps of sleep but Brittany's snoring softly right in your ear and now that you're awake you know from experience you won't fall back asleep until you eat something. Preferably something snacky or fatty. Or both, actually.<p>

You fling your arm out in the general direction of the bedside table and manage to find your phone without too much fumbling around, but when you click it on to see what time it is Brittany squeals and buries her head against your stomach to escape the too-bright light. You're tempted to join her under the covers; three a.m. is far too early to be awake, especially after a night of drunken Glee club karaoke at Rachel's house last night, but your stomach grumbles insistently and you wiggle out of Brittany's grasp.

"Go back to sleep, babe. I'll be right back," you murmur as you tug on one of her oversize hoodie sweatshirts and a pair of sleep shorts that might or might not belong to you. You crane your neck to try and see whose name is written on the butt, but the movement is entirely too complex for your state of drunkenness and it sets the room spinning.

You rub your knuckles into your eyes and mutter, "Fuck it," before slipping out the door and padding down the hallway. It takes you a few tries before you remember where the stairs are (it's a good thing Brittany's sister is a heavy sleeper), but when you finally locate them you manage to avoid falling and breaking your neck. You're still elated with your accomplishment by the time you reach the kitchen and start rummaging around in the kitchen cupboards in search of snacks.

The street light filtering in through the window is your only light source and it makes it hard to distinguish the good food from the nasty stuff, like Rice Chex and Wheat Thins. Whoever invented Wheat Thins deserves a good thump upside the head. You shove the crumpled box into the back corner of the cupboard and as you're doing so, your hand brushes against a slightly flattened silver tube.

"Hot damn and thank you Jesus for this fruity salvation," you whisper in triumph as you quickly rip the wrapper off of the fruit rollup and hike it up over your head in triumph. Unfortunately for you, someone left the ceiling fan on in the kitchen and as you fling your hand up, the fruit rollup slips out of your fingers and flies straight into the spinning blades. You clap your hand over your mouth to stifle a scream of horror as the fan blades spin once, twice, and then spit the fruit rollup out. It drops onto the kitchen tiles with a tiny splat.

"Fuck! Shit!"

You lean over to assess the damage and groan when you see that the fruit rollup landed squarely on a dust ball made up of mostly Lord Tubbington's fur. You swear again and scowl as your stomach grumbles insistently, demanding food.

That stupid cat and his stupid fur getting all over your goddamn fruit rollup. You would never tell Brittany, but you won't miss that cat one bit when you leave for school this fall. Even as you're thinking it, you shake your head to try and dislodge the thought before it can dig in and take root. You've been trying not to think about school, because thinking about school leads to thinking about leaving Brittany and thinking about leaving Brittany usually makes your stomach clench up until you feel kind of sick and weepy all at the same time.

You scuff your foot across the floor and prod at the fruit rollup with your toe. It looks so sad and pathetic lying there all alone. Kind of like how you're going to be in a few months when you're staying in a shitty dorm room and Brittany is back here with her compulsively shedding asshole of a cat. Your lip starts to tremble and your head pounds as all these feelings start to creep up on you, and the room starts to spin again. Dropping your goddamn fruit rollup is the straw that's going to break the camel's hump. Or is it back? Whatever.

A muffled whimper slips out of your mouth and you plop down on the floor next to your sad, hairy snack and start to bawl. You feel an instant ache start to brew behind your eyes as you hug your knees to your chest and sob. A soft padding of footsteps makes you lift your head and blearily whisper, "Britt?"

"Sorry, honey. It's just me." The soft voice of Brittany's mom floats from around the corner, and she follows it until she's standing above you. The soft light from the streetlamp outside gives her a halo of golden light, but darkens her face so you can't tell what her expression is. You stop worrying if she's mad at you when she turns around and sits across from you; back leaning up on the cupboards behind her.

"Are you okay, Santana? Is Brittany upstairs?" You still can't really see her face; but you're glad because it makes it easier to just let go and tell her, no, you're not okay. It's weird because it's Brittany's mom for godssake, and yet it's not weird because this woman raised Brittany, the one thing you love most in this shitty world, and you recognize the tilt of Brittany's head and the gentle curve of her fingers in her mother, and you know that she is just as smart and kind as her daughter. She's familiar, and since you can't tell Brittany, her mom is the next best thing. Plus; you're still a little drunk.

"I'm mad at her. I'm so mad at her, but mostly I'm mad at myself for not realizing. Not helping her when she needed me" You know this doesn't make much sense, but the words are just kind of spilling out of you and you don't think you could stop them, or even slow them down enough to organize them. Brittany's mom understands, though, and she gently taps your bare foot with her sock-covered toe.

She waits a second before saying, "You're angry that Brittany failed and didn't tell anyone."

The tears start to well up in your eyes again and you swipe at them with the back of your hand and say, "I was so caught up in all of my shi- stuff, sorry, that I didn't even realize. She was the one thing, my only thing, that got me through this year and I couldn't even take a damn second to check her grades."

Brittany's mom shakes her head in the darkness. When she speaks her voice sounds rougher than it had earlier, "Oh, Santana. You have to understand; Brittany is a proud person. She knows when she is good at something, and she isn't afraid to show it. She's proud to be herself, always, and I know she is proud to be your girlfriend. But pride goes two ways," she stops for a second and stares up at the ceiling fan before gently tapping the floor with her fist and continuing, "Brittany doesn't like to ask for help."

You scowl. You still could've noticed. You could've asked her about homework; you could've paid more attention. Could have, would have, should have. You start to say, "But-" but her mom shakes her head.

"Brittany knew what she was doing, Santana. It wasn't your negligence; it was her choice. She chose you."

You frown again and ask, "Wait, what?"

"She chose to concentrate on you. You were having a rough time, Santana, and while Brittany isn't the best at schoolwork; she's very good at you. Making sure you made it through this year was the most important thing to her. I'm not mad about her choice because I know that you are her most important thing. She threw herself into something wholeheartedly and succeeded. I'm so proud of both of you, I really am." By the time her mom was done speaking, her voice was shaking and you knew she was crying, too.

You dropped your head to your chest and listened you your heartbeat. It echoed in your ears and pulsed behind your eyes. Over and over again, it said the same thing. The same beat it's always drummed out: Brittany, Brittany, Brittany. Over and over; forever. How can you ever leave her?

"I feel like I'm being pulled in two. Half of me wants to- needs to- go out into the world, to get away from this little place, and make my own life, but the other half is pulling too. It yells at me, like I'm so stupid; why would I want to leave here when I'm finally happy? What's wrong with me?" You don't know how much her mom hears because by the end you're just whispering it into your hands.

"I don't know all the answers, honey, but I do know that you won't be leaving her. Not really. She'll follow you to the end of the world, and we both know it, so if you think for one second that she's going to just let you go once you start school, you've got another thing coming. A few miles in between you doesn't mean a thing unless you let it," her mom had stopped crying and her voice grew strong with conviction. She stood up, stepped over to you and kissed the top of your head before walking out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise."

You shudder out a few more breaths before crawling over to the furry fruit rollup. You scoop it up in your hand and throw it in the wastebasket and then grab the box of Wheat Thins. You flick off the ceiling fan before following Brittany's mom back upstairs; ready to be at Brittany's side; right where you always have, and always will belong.

Now you know how Brittany got so smart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** Sorry for not updating, everybody. I started college, and (excuse my language) holy shit. Was not prepared for it. Also, I'm sorry that these aren't funny. This project started out rather lighthearted, but it's getting to be more of a way for me to think out the girls' problems. Whatever. Review if you want (I know I do!).


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